Chapter 40
"Just a few more," mumbled Rory, depositing a huge stack of books in the TARDIS.
"It was just a few more like two-hundred books ago," said Amy.
Rory nodded absently and went back to the Burrow. It was hard work running up to the attic and down again, arms laden with the library he'd acquired over the years. He was sweating and panting, but he was afraid that if he stopped he'd have a completely embarrassing meltdown in front of everyone.
Running around frantically wasn't much better, though. His family members, plus Harry and Hermione, were all gathered in the living room, and they regarded him with looks of increasing concern as his trips up and down the stairs reached double-digits. "Why don't you just use magic?" drawled Ron.
"Better this way," said Rory hurriedly.
The truth was he couldn't bear to use a wand in front of his family. At Hogwarts, fine. With Amy, wonderful. At home, his mind still insisted he was a Squib, and considering that a good deal of spells were powered by intention, he was useless for magic at the Burrow.
Rory placed the books next to the small mountain of others, and turned to go back for more. Amy grabbed him and said, "Leave them some to remember you by. Are you ready?"
He caught his breath. "No. But it's time, isn't it?"
She nodded. She took his hand and they walked back to the house. Rory hugged everyone in turn. Harry was last in line, and he handed Rory a large, wrapped parcel. "It's just a book...like you need another book...but wait 'til you get home to open it."
Rory nodded, took a step back and swept his gaze over everyone, immensely thankful that he was by no means the only one crying. "I don't know how to say goodbye, forever."
"So, don't," said Arthur, voice trembling. "Just go...enjoy your adventure."
Molly wiped at her eyes with her sweater cuff and said, "We love you. We are so proud of you."
"Try not to be so serious," said George and Fred in unison.
"Have an amazing life," said Ginny.
"I will...I already do," said Rory.
As he was taking his last look, there came a distant wailing sound from the very top of the house. "It's the ghoul!" shouted Ron. "Poor thing, he's going to miss you, his one true love."
In the laughter that followed, Rory managed to will himself outside, across the snowy lawn and into the TARDIS's open door. The lights from the house sparkled golden and cheerful on the snow. He waved once, then pulled the door shut and turned away, resisting the powerful urge to fling it open again and bolt back to his family.
Jack Harkness offered him an encouraging smile. M met his gaze solemnly. The Doctor was preoccupied with the control panel. "You force people to make these...impossible choices," Rory said.
The Doctor didn't look up. "I know. I'm sorry. But you chose to travel with me-"
"I chose to be with Amy."
Amy took him by the arm and led him to their room. The Doctor continued fiddling with the controls. M could see that he wasn't actually making any adjustments, just putting on the appearance of being busy. "You alright?" he asked.
The Doctor nodded. M continued, "Rory is really upset right now. I'm sure he's glad we came to rescue him. Besides, it's my fault he got lost in the first place-"
"No. It's mine. I show human beings the adventure of a lifetime...and it devours their lives, twists them in ways that can't be undone. Maybe Time Lords have no business getting involved with humans. Maybe I've gone about this all wrong."
"You were alone, and humans gave you purpose. They offered friendship. Respect. Love. Somehow, I don't see you turning away from them just because things get difficult. You told me that you love a challenge...it's just your nature. You've made your life exactly as hard as it is."
Jack said, "Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded."
Both Time Lords turned to look at him. "Was that Walt Whitman?" asked M.
Jack nodded. "Song of the Open Road always reminds me of the Doctor."
M smiled. "Keep going."
"Okay. This is my favourite part. 'Allons! After the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.'"
After a moment, he added, "We're all travelers on the same road, Doctor. There's no need to blame yourself, or feel responsible for every sad thing that happens."
The Doctor was quite still now, his gaze distant. M stared at him, studied him really, took in the weary weight he carried, the centuries of desperation to do the right thing, always being looked to as a leader, never an equal...and the running...always the running...towards beings whose lives flashed brief and bright as meteors, the running from his howling loneliness. Their eyes met, and M saw himself then as the Doctor saw him, blazing with pure, steady light, and felt the tremendous gift he could give so easily, so joyfully, as if it were nothing, lighter then air, but oh, it was everything, the only thing, the greatest. "Will you be my companion? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?"
The Doctor took his hand.